Fevered Embrace
by CTMfan-13
Summary: Dr Turner comes to a patient's aid


Walking into the sitting room at Nonnatus House, the first thing he notices is the heat. Outside, it's a beautiful spring day but here in the parlor it's stifling.

He was called to Nonnatus from the surgery just as he was preparing to go home for the night, Timothy staying at his grandmother's house for the long weekend. One of the choir sisters had called, worried about one of the other nuns running a fever. Patrick hadn't even asked which one, he simply packed his bag and headed to the convent, letting himself in as he had done many times before.

It's not difficult to find his patient, sitting on the sofa shivering under several blankets that have been piled onto her slight form.

"Sister?"

She turns her half-lidded eyes towards him as he kneels next to her.

"Hello, Doc-tor Turner. C-can I help you with something?"

He lets out a breath, almost like a laugh. "I was under the impression that I was here to help you."

"Hmm?" she asks, not quite focusing on him.

"Sister, I think we should take you to hospital." he whispers.

She straightens a little, her shoulders quaking slightly. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you."

"Sister," he began softly. "You can't stop shaking and you seem to be burning up with fever. If you won't let me examine you, I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you to the London."

"It's just a cold...I'm f-fine. Besides, you have calls to make and T-Ti-imothy to look after."

He smiled at her shyly. "As a matter of fact, I'm free as a bird. Timothy is at his grandmother's for the weekend, so I was simply headed for a fry-up and a lonely night at home. So, while I appreciate your concern, I think my attentions will be better spent here."

He takes his suit jacket off as he slowly moves to sit next to her on the sofa, opening his medical bag near her feet and procuring a thermometer to gauge her temperature.

"Open?" he held the thermometer to her lips, watching as she kept them pursed closed in defiance. "Sister, stop being such a stubborn Scot and let me take your temperature." Narrowing her eyes at his insult, she opens her mouth the slightest bit accepting the instrument with a huff.

Grinning over his victory, he gently places his hand on her wrist to get her pulse. Her hands are as cold as ice, he realizes as he counts the beats under his fingers. He tries not to notice the sigh she lets out as he rubs her hand together with his, trying to bring some warmth back to her body.

"Let's see what we're dealing with, here." Patrick plucks the thermometer from her mouth as she watches him intently. "Over a hundred and one. Right, Sister. It's bed rest for you. Come on, I'll help you to your room."

She whimpers in distaste. "It's so-cold in my cell. And lonely. Can I not stay here, please?" She looks up at him from under her lashes, unaware of how the action makes his breath catch in his throat.

"You promise to rest?" She nods, closing her eyes as the motion makes her dizzy. She leans into him as he places his hand on her forehead, startling him at how receptive she is to his touch. "As long as you promise, I don't see why you can't."

He begins to move off the couch and is stopped by her hand on his wrist.

"Will you- s-stay a while?" she asks, voice laced with fear and insecurity. He smiles and nods at her, settling back down and leaning his back onto the sofa.

"As long as you want me to." He whispers, not seeing the smile that plays on her lips.

He knows it's because she's ill. That she's lost some control of her senses and isn't aware of her actions. But as she shifts her body beneath the blankets and curls into his side, her head on his shoulder as she drifts off to sleep, he can't help but put his arms around her holding her captive in his embrace.

He's imagined this feeling before. More than he'd like to admit, to be honest. But even in his dreams, nothing had ever felt as right as her tiny body practically curled into his lap. Her body is still trembling, each shudder passing through him as she leans further into his side. He tightens his hold on her, willing her even in sleep to know that he's there, that he's protecting her. Watching over her now as he has done for months, even if he couldn't make his vigil known.

He doesn't know how long they sit there, curled together like kittens. The exquisite feeling of finally holding her in his arms calms his tortured soul just enough for him to let his guard down and lightly doze along with her.

He is awoken by the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Quick and purposeful, he immediately knows that they belong to Sister Julienne. Coming back to his senses, he steals a look at the woman in his arms. Her face in sleep is unlined by the worry he has seen upon it so often as of late. She is still curled into him, his right side bearing most of her weight. As the steps come closer, he knows he doesn't have enough time to move into a proper position without disturbing Sister Bernadette. In that moment he makes a decision, both for the good of his patient and the fact that he's unwilling to relinquish the contact he's been wishing for for so long.

He closes his eyes, pretending to be as asleep as the young nun in his arms, just as the footsteps reach the doorway. He hears a short intake of breath upon seeing them together on the sofa, then the footsteps seem to come closer. He feels rather than sees what happens next, as a blanket is placed onto both of them, being tucked loosely around his arm and her shoulder.

"Sleep well." comes the gentle whisper of Sister Julienne. "Thank you for taking care of her."

He hears the footsteps recede from the room again, then shifts to a more comfortable position as Sister Bernadette slumbers on. Both of them more content in their rest than they had been for months.


End file.
